Journey
by Shiyaki
Summary: A journey of a thousand miles may begin with a single step, but sometimes you need a little shove to take it. Who'd be more qualified to give it than Youichi Hiruma?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I own neither Harry Potter nor Eyeshield 21 and I don't earn any money with this story.

 **Author's note** : Will have slash later on. Most likely Hiruma/Harry.

 **Rating: T**

 **Warning:** canon typical bad language

* * *

" _The only impossible journey is the one you never begin." by Anthony Robbins_

* * *

Youichi was in the midst of evaluating the newest contribution to his ever growing threat notebook, when the metallic door of the school roof banged open. The bleached blond didn't even have to take a guess as to the identity of the newcomer, because the tumultuous entry had been accompanied by an overzealous 'Hiruma-kun' for all of Tokyo to hear. Seconds later a pointed head appeared around the corner.

He idly wondered if acquainting Kurita with one of his guns would help dampen the boy's overenthusiastic tendencies, but quickly gave up on the idea. While the calculated success rate was above zero percent, the undertaking, in all its annoying glory, would distract him from more pressing matters. Like increasing his slave-network, for example.

"What do you want fucking fatty? Apart from puncturing my eardrums, I mean." The blond continued sifting through the copious amounts of photographs and sorted them by blackmail potential. It was quite fascinating what people got up to in their spare time.

"Hiruma-kun! I found someone amazing!" Kurita went on shouting, completely disregarding Youichi's reprimand. The nerve! "Yesterday, on my way home, some kids were playing catch in the park and one of them missed the ball. It was about to hit an elder lady, but suddenly a boy dashed up to her and caught the ball just before it reached her! It was amazing, Hiruma-kun, amazing!"

"And what do I care about a random fucking person, fucking fatty?"

"But that's it Hiruma-kun! He's a new student who transferred to Musashi-kun's class. D- do you think he'll want to play American football with us?"

For a long moment Youichi stared blankly at a shot of his math teacher in drag, not even noticing the protesting twinge in his jaw, which was caused by his clenched teeth. He hadn't… he _**hadn't known**_ there was a transfer student. Obviously his intelligence gathering network was nowhere near sufficient at this point.

Finally, after having patched his pokerface back together, the blond slid the stack of photographs into a side-pocket of his bag, slung it over one shoulder and shoved another piece of sugarless gum into his mouth in quick succession.

"Ke ke ke, why didn't you say so earlier? Let's take a look at our newest teammate." He pressed one foot against Kurita's backside and urged the lineman towards the door.

"But Hiruma-kun, he has to say 'yes' first!"

"Oh, he will."

"No blackmailing!"

Instead of running around school like a headless chicken, Youichi headed for Musashi's classroom first. If their target happened to be elsewhere, there was still enough of their break left to ask around school – read: threaten his classmates into helping them.

They stopped in front of classroom 2b and peered inside. At once, all conversations ceased, when the pupils noticed the blond devil in their midst. Everyone tried to be as inconspicuous as possible, some even going as far as escaping through the second door.

Ha, it was nice to be feared!

Youichi scanned the remaining teenagers, idly noticing that Musashi wasn't there, until his gaze got caught by a lone boy, sitting at the far end of the room. His face was directed at the window and part of it covered by black glasses, but enough facial features were visible to identify the raven-haired teen as a Caucasian foreigner.

"Hiruma-kun, that's him," Kurita 'whispered' in a tone of voice that small children use when they think they're being quiet. Consequently, everyone in the room heard him. With the exception of the foreign boy, perhaps, who still didn't pay them any attention.

Instead of confronting the brunet with a Glock 17 or an AK-47, Youichi pulled out the football he usually used to train in his spare time. His throwing skills were nowhere near perfect, but would suffice for this purpose. Blowing a bubble-gum bubble, whilst expertly ignoring the multitude of gasps, the blond took aim and launched his projectile into the boy's direction to rouse him out of his daydreaming. Maybe he'd even get an initial impression on those 'amazing' catching skills.

For a long moment Youichi saw the football collide with the teen's arm in his mind's eye. Then, just as it reached his personal space, the brunet flinched minutely, before twisting his body in a show of great flexibility to slide off his chair and assume a defensive position behind his desk. The football whizzed above the dark mop of hair and missed the window by a hair's breadth.

The popping of Youichi's bubble gum sounded like an explosion in the eerie silence of the classroom.

While most of those present stared at their classmate in shocked astonishment, a thousand thoughts whirled through the blond's head. Part of his brain was focussing on the brunet's abnormal behaviour, another was busy working out ways to utilise the quick reflexes to his advantage.

Before his target, or anyone for that matter, had a chance to pull himself together, Youichi strode through the room and leant over the desk slash shield.

"Hey, fucking foreigner, want to join the American football club?"

A pair of green, blank eyes fixed on his as the brunet slowly got up from his crouched position and gingerly sat back down on his chair.

"No."


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I own neither Harry Potter nor Eyeshield 21 and I don't earn any money with this story.

 **Author's note** : Will have slash later on. Most definitely Hiruma/Harry.

 **Rating: T**

 **Warning:** canon typical bad language

* * *

 **Chapter 2**

" _Transformation is a process, and as life happens there are tons of ups and downs. It's a journey of discovery - there are moments on mountaintops and moments in deep valleys of despair." – Rick Warren_

* * *

"I'm back."

Uttering a soft sigh, Harry dropped his school bag next to the coat rack in the hall and shuffled towards the kitchen. He stopped in the doorway, eyed the steaming bowls of takeaway ramen on the table and stared at his sheepishly grinning godfather.

The brunet snorted and sank down on his usual chair, before breaking apart the supplied wooden chopsticks. By now Harry was pretty proficient at using them, though he was still reluctant to acknowledge them as primary cutlery.

"What were you trying to make this time?"

Usually Harry was the one to cook, but sometimes his godfather's mind was set on preparing a meal all by himself. Unfortunately, Sirius had never developed any culinary skills, because in Azkaban you were glad to get something halfway edible and the rest of his previous life had been spent with a house elf on hand, be it in Grimmauld Place, Hogwarts or Potter Manor. Needless to say that Sirius' cooking attempts almost always ended in disaster – one time Harry had even come back to a house fire in the making – and takeaway food.

"It was supposed to be treacle tart, but… well, the… the dough might have exploded," the older brunet admitted with a crocked grin, while tucking into his meal. "Anyway, how was your day?"

Harry stilled in mid-chew, eyes dulling a tad more than usual. He quickly swallowed his mouthful and proceeded to eat as if nothing had happened.

"It was fine."

Sirius hummed and raised an eyebrow at him. "And classes? I know your Japanese still needs some work and you're missing a few years of muggle schooling. I bet it's hard to keep up. I can look for a tutor, if you want me to."

"I'll manage. It's not like it matters, anyway. I'll just have to finish the next school year and then I'm done with the obligatory schooling," the younger brunet muttered into his non-existent beard and pierced the soggy noodles in front of him with a glare.

"But don't you want to-"

Harry threw his chopsticks next to the still half full bowl and jumped to his feet, thereby upsetting his chair, which crashed to the floor. Neither of them paid attention to it.

"What I **want** is to ride my Firebolt and look for the Snitch during Quidditch games. What I **want** is to be in Hogwarts with my best friends to learn spells and be annoyed at Snape, because he's a prejudiced git again. What I _**want**_ -"

He felt the tell-tale prickling behind his eyes, but resolutely refused to cry. Crying had never helped him and it wouldn't now.

"I'll **never** get what I want, Sirius. Not after what happened in that manor. Not after… not after what Voldemort did to me. I should have gone the other way… I shouldn't have come ba-"

Strong, but still far too skinny, arms wrapped around him and pulled him into a tight embrace. The brunet flinched and tried to escape, but a couple of failed attempts later he finally gave up and dropped his head on the older man's shoulder.

Sirius' voice was scratchy, when he murmured into his godson's raven locks, "I can't even imagine how hard this must be for you, but _please_ don't ever think like that, Harry. I'm so, so glad that I haven't lost you that day and I swear I'm somehow going to make it better."

Harry knew nothing could possible make his situation better, but for now he'd let his godfather hope.

* * *

The next day started as usual.

Harry went to school, ignored the American football in his shoe locker and shuffled to his classroom, where he found yet another American football magazine on his desk – surprisingly enough, they were always in English. He briefly eyed the tall, well-built athletes – the complete opposite to his small, scrawny frame – with envy-fuelled disdain, before shoving the magazine into the storage place under the top of his desk.

The next few hours were spent with half-hearted attempts to translate his teachers' lectures and the Japanese characters on the blackboard into something comprehensible. The only subject he had no problem understanding was, of course, English, but the butchering of his mother language – even by the teacher - was almost worse.

Not being particularly inclined to stay in the classroom during lunch break, Harry opted to go for a walk around school, which ended on the roof twenty minutes later. He regretted his choice at once, when he recognised his unmistakable tormentor of the last few days. The footballs and the magazines he could live with, but the blond – Hisuka or something – had adopted the annoying habit of tossing random stuff at him. At first Harry had evaded the items due to instinct, but by now the brunet just dodged everything on principle.

He also kind of wanted to throw a punch at the bloke's shit-eating grin.

"Ah, if it isn't the fucking foreigner. Finally decided to join the Devil Bats?"

Harry raised an eyebrow at being addressed in English, with an American accent to boot, but decided to shove that little titbit into the back of his mind. "No. I'm pondering the best way to push you over the railing. Any suggestions?"

Instead of taking the brunet's words as an affront, the taller teen stepped closer and poked a long, slim finger into Harry's chest.

"Kekeke, so you're not a fucking wimp, after all. How about a deal, then? There's going to be a practice match next week. You'll participate and come to practice until then. If you're still not interested in joining afterwards, I'll leave you alone."

The brunet snorted. "I somehow can't imagine you giving up that easily. Why do you want me in your team anyway? I don't even know the rules of American football!"

The elf-boy – seriously, there was no way that bloke was completely human – eyed Harry like he thought him a complete idiot, making the urge to punch the blond git return tenfold.

"Are you fucking kidding me, fucking foreigner? Your reflexes are top-notch and according to the fucking fatty you're not half bad at catching. So, do you agree or not?"

Harry stared at the blond for a long moment, weighting the pros and cons. On one hand it felt like selling his soul to the devil, but on the other hand it was a chance to burst the bloke's bubble. Someone like him would never be good at a sport seemingly based on height and strength. That would teach – Haruna? – to leave him alone far better than the brunet's continued disregard.

"You've got yourself a deal, Tinkerbelle."


End file.
